


And Dreaming Through the Twilight

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Family Dynamics, Guilt, M/M, Seduction, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:52:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy Shelby - with family, with strangers, with lovers. </p><p>When I am dead, my dearest,<br/>Sing no sad songs for me;<br/>Plant thou no roses at my head,<br/>Nor shady cypress tree:<br/>Be the green grass above me<br/>With showers and dewdrops wet;<br/>And if thou wilt, remember,<br/>And if thou wilt, forget.</p><p>I shall not see the shadows,<br/>I shall not feel the rain;<br/>I shall not hear the nightingale<br/>Sing on, as if in pain:<br/>And dreaming through the twilight<br/>That doth not rise nor set,<br/>Haply I may remember,<br/>And haply may forget. </p><p> - Christina Rossetti</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Dreaming Through the Twilight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Tumblr prompt.

The way to get people to do what you want is put the fear of God in them, or seduce them, and if you can’t do either, then you’re well and truly fucked. Fortunately Thomas Shelby is blessed with the ability to do both. Some say he has the eyes of the devil and the tongue of a saint. Others know he’s just a man, cunning and clever enough to persuade you into giving him anything he desires. But that doesn’t make him any less dangerous.

 *  *  *

He’s always been able to twist his older brother round his little finger. Arthur’s heart is weak as water when it comes to Tommy. If there had ever been a chance of him not giving in, it had long disappeared like morning dew. Ever since Tommy was little, he’d been the one to lead them into trouble. Any sort of adventure was an invitation to him.

“Arthur,” Tommy would wheedle, clasping his slender hands around his brother’s neck and drawing him in closer. “Come on. It’s just a game.” He’s got that smile on his lips and the light of mischief in his eyes.

What sort of man says no to that?

 *  *  *

Tommy kisses another soldier in a muddy trench, three minutes before the shells start up again. It isn’t because he doesn’t want it, but he wants the cigarettes the boy had been sent from back home even more.

The boy’s mouth tastes of smoke and blood and Tommy knows that death is only a breath away.

He crushes the boy’s lips to his own even harder, unwilling to surrender a moment before he has to.

 *  *  *

They’re in a pub in Manchester, the three of them waiting for a train. Business is over. It’s well past time for a drink. Tommy catches the waitress’s eye. He doesn’t even have to wink at her. She’s already on her way over to them.

“And what can I get you lads?” she asks, eyes on none of them but Tommy.

They tell her, as he gets out his cigarettes and sets one to his lips.

“And you?”

“Whiskey.” He says.

Later he leaves the table, and John half starts to go after him. Arthur catches his wrist and hauls him back down to his chair. “Leave him be.”

“We’ll miss our train.” John glances over his shoulder. Tommy’s gone through the doors into the hall after the waitress.

“No we won’t.” Arthur reaches for his drink. He knows Tommy.

John waits till he’s gone up to the bar to order another round before he goes anyway.

He walks down the hall and checks the john, before seeing the door to the coat room slightly ajar. John peeks through. Tommy has the woman up against the wall, skirts pushed up over her pale thighs. Tommy’s hips jerk in a smooth, steady rhythm as the woman kisses his mouth.

John turns away quickly. He goes back to the table.

Arthur doesn’t even look up. “I told you to leave him be.”

John Finn reaches for his beer. He drinks it quickly, unsure at the giddy mixture of arousal and embarrassment churning in his guts.

Eventually Tommy comes sauntering back to their table, hands in his pockets. “Alright, boys?”

There’s an unfamiliar slant to his shoulders. It takes John a bit to realize it’s how his brother looks when he’s relaxed.

*  *  *

Alfie Solomons is a big man in Camden Town, and Tommy knows it would take a lot to sway him to his side. He goes in brave but clever, prepared to bluff his way through. He’s been bruised enough by the encounter with Campbell. The last thing he needs was this deal falling through.

He switches his plan after he’s sat across the desk from Solomons. You could bark and threaten a man, but at the core of him, there’s always desire. Desire for money, or flesh, liquor or violence. Something driving him forward, eating at the heart of him.

In Solomons’ case, it’s lust, pure and simple. Tommy looks in his eyes and sees it plain as day.

He makes his way back to the boat and waits. Curly’s gone for a drink. Just as well, otherwise Tommy would have had to send him off.

He knows Solomons knows where he’s staying. If the man doesn’t have men following Tommy, he’d never have gotten where he is today. Tommy sits in the cabin and smokes, listening to the sounds of boats passing by.

The boat rocks at last, and Tommy sits up, leaning back against the wall. A shadow fills the door as someone stands there. Solomons descends into the little cabin. There’s not much space with a man of his bulk inhabiting it. Tommy gazes up at him, blowing a ring of smoke into the air.

“Took you long enough.”

Solomons leans down to wrap his fist tight in Tommy’s shirt. He pulls him forward, his face so close to Tommy’s, they’re sharing breath.

“Patience,” Solomons murmurs. “is the devil’s own game.” His eyes smile at Tommy. “You should know that well enough by now.” His beard brushes Tommy’s cheek.

“Why don’t you show me how you play it then?” Tommy licks his lips and smiles through bruised lips.

Solomons answers him with his mouth.

 *  *  *

The bunk isn’t big enough for the both of them, bodies joined at the hips, Solomons stretched out atop of him. He’s all brawn and teeth, greedy hands and mouth on Tommy’s skin. The warm slick press of his cock does satisfying things to Tommy’s body that Tommy doesn’t want to let himself think on overly much.

Afterward they lie there still and silent in the dark, one of Tommy’s legs over Solomons’ knee. Solomons draws a flask out of his coat from its place on the floor. He takes a long swallow before passing it over to Tommy.

“So this deal then.”

“It’s all settled.” Tommy murmurs. He’s sated, ready for sleep, ready to return home. But this brief interlude is one time. He might well have to persuade the man back next time as well. It does no harm to keep him on the sweet side of things. It’s not often that he wants as much as he does this.

“Good.” Alfie slides a sturdy arm around his shoulder and rolls atop him again. The water laps at the boat’s side and Tommy finds himself glad Curly’s staying away.

 *  *  *

He’s at a bar, and the bartender gives him a long look over the counter. The kind of look Tommy knows well. There’s barely anyone else there. No one to notice a thing. He finishes his drink before heading off to the john.

It’s less than three minutes before the bartender comes after him. Tommy pushes him up to the door. He doesn’t want to know the man’s name, or whether he’ll keep his mouth shut. The man goes to his knees, reaching for Tommy’s trousers. Tommy braces his hand against the door, keeping it shut against anyone wanting in. Bad luck to them if they do.

The bartender’s near his own age, and Tommy wonders if he sleeps well at night, or if his own conscience keep him up. If this pleasure is worth the risk.

He closes his eyes and slips away.

 *  *  *

He’s made his bed many times over, and he’s laid in it, thinking of how the nights never seem to end. In the morning though, the world’s still there. The bleakness of the dawn falls away as he stretches and gets out of bed. The sun comes up and Tommy gets dressed, watching it trail across the wooden floorboards.

He lights a cigarette and watches the smoke trail over the chimney pots on the neighboring roof. Another day. He’s still here, and the walls stand firm. Another day. Another night to come.


End file.
